


Quid Pro Quo

by damtoti



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Blow Jobs, Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M, NedPort, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2180562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damtoti/pseuds/damtoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a great relationship, when you discount the number of times they purposefully attempt to piss each other off.  Porn without plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> NedPort is taking over my life. I can never get enough of these two. Help, we need more fics.
> 
> From the kink meme.

“I already told you, you’re not going on top of me.”

Netherlands takes another slow drag from his pipe. “And why is that?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

Portugal snorts as if it’s a hassle to even answer such a question, and maybe it is. “The last time you couldn’t hold your weight up, remember? And being crushed isn’t exactly sexy.”

“Fair point.”

Netherlands leans over the dresser to tip the ashes into the tray, and then rests his pipe by the side. By the time he’s done with that, Portugal is already shirtless; lean muscles shift over shoulder blades as he reaches down to unbuckle his belt.

It’s not exactly a strip show, but Netherlands watches briefly as the pants are tugged down to Portugal’s ankles, and then he remembers he’s supposed to be getting undressed to. As Portugal dumps his clothes in his own corner, Netherlands removes his scarf and coat. He makes a haphazard attempt at folding them before tossing them by the bed, close enough to reach for the next morning.

“So how are we doing this again?” Netherlands asks, not that he needs more clarification on the _position_ —just on how the two of them are going to work it out. He leans back against the headboard and spreads his legs cautiously. His eyebrows raise in question.

“No, not like that.” Portugal rolls his eyes. “You need to move down.”

He frowns. “How much more?”

“Until you’re actually _lying_ on the bed, where I can actually get on top of you.”

“You can sit on my lap,” Netherlands offers.

“Technically it’s _your_ turn to blow me, but then you always whine about you and _your_ satisfaction so we might as well try getting us both done together.”

Portugal finishes his rant by grabbing hold of his ankles and tugging at them until Netherlands finally acquiesces and scoots away from the beloved headboard. He settles down on the bed, stomach up, and sighs as he keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling. It’s not really his style to lie completely vulnerable on his back, especially not with another man on top of him.

But maybe it’s not so bad, he thinks, as Portugal climbs over him and raises his ass like that. At the back of his mind, Netherlands feels the hands slipping down his hips and thighs, but he’s more focused on the perfect view before him. Of course, he can’t help but smack both hands on those tight and round cheeks, grabbing and squeezing, and a moment later he hears— _feels—_ the hot breath between his thighs as Portugal growls with irritation. “Can you stop that?”

Netherlands’ lips quirk up, and since he figures Portugal will be too impatient to retaliate, risks the sharp smack to his rear. Portugal hisses.

“Maybe, if you start sucking.”

He expects Portugal to offer a sharp retort, but he simply mutters something in his native language. His forearms rest on the mattress, and with that, he wraps his lips around Netherland’s cock.

Netherlands lets out a low groan, his hands rubbing slow circles along Portugal’s ass. He should be doing his half of the work too, but he wants to enjoy the feeling of the hot, wetness for a moment longer; the tightness as Portugal hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , and—shit, was that soft moan his? Judging by the muffled smirk around his cock, yes.

Well, he can’t let Portugal hog all the glory. Netherlands spits in his hand, which is actually complicated considering his position, and then reaches up to give Portugal a few firm strokes. His other hand reaches up to fondle and tease his balls, and he smirks to himself as Portugal’s legs tense with anticipation. He’s not one for extended teasing, however, and after a few seconds without more of a reaction, Netherlands cranes his neck and takes the cock head into his mouth.

He’s not going to lie; it’s hardly the best taste out there. And hell, he could lick a wad of tobacco— _has_ licked a wad of tobacco. But the sharp intake of breath and vibrating hum of approval around his member is all the coaxing he needs.

Netherlands runs his tongue along the underside of the cock, and when Portugal opens his mouth to gasp, he takes the opportunity to give his ass another light smack. What can he say; the guy has a great butt.

Portugal parts his lips and takes a deep breath in preparation; then, as if to ‘punish’ him, he drops his head down, faster than Netherlands could anticipate, and takes him in whole. Portugal doesn’t even gag; he’s clearly more experienced at this, and when the throat clenches around him—tight, smooth, _hot_ —Netherlands can’t hold back his embarrassingly eager groan.

The heat is pooling in his stomach, and Netherlands spreads his legs wider. His hips jerk up on their own, and he can tell his own movements are getting sloppier. Portugal’s cock slips out of his mouth as he stifles a cry, and when he leans up for it, it bumps his cheek, leaving a trail of pre-cum.

Netherlands ignores it and parts his lips, his tongue flicking out to tease the slit. Portugal’s hips buck forward and nearly choke him. He grunts to convey his irritation, because having a dick shoved down his throat is hardly the most pleasant feeling, but then Portugal starts doing things with his tongue that feel… pretty fucking amazing, and if that’s an apology, Netherlands might willingly allow himself to be face-fucked all day.

He spits out some of the juices that linger in his mouth, and panting, hisses out, “ _Faster_.”

They’re both close now, if their simultaneous groans are any indication; either they’re no longer embarrassed about the noises or they’ve just stopped caring. Portugal is panting heavily, and with each bob of his head his chest brushes down Netherlands’ waist. He wonders if Portugal knows just how enticing it all is, with his hands absentmindedly grazing the inside of his thigh, fingertips flickering long enough to make him shudder.

Netherlands spreads his legs wider, thrusting his hips up—despite the tanned hands tightening their grip in an attempt to restrain him— because he needs more of that speed, the friction of Portugal’s hot mouth moving around his cock. “C-Come on, I’m close,” he chokes out.

Portugal, the fucking bastard, stops right there to take a break. His hand idly sweeps against his shaft, around his balls. He pauses to draw his tongue slowly up the underside of his cock, and Netherlands can practically feel his grin as he sweeps his tongue around the head.

“Don’t tease, don’t you fucking tease or I’ll leave you right here.”

Portugal hums around him. “Sure about that? I’ll stop too, and then we’ll both end up going to bed frustrated.”

Netherlands will never understand Portugal and his bizarre stubbornness. “Come _on_ , don’t make this like last time.”

“A ‘please’ goes a long way.” Portugal slips him in all the way up to the base, and then slowly drags his lips back up. “Or… you can try begging.”

He’s joking. He better fucking be joking. Once they’re done with this, Netherlands is going to flip him over and fuck him into obliviousness. But that’s afterwards, and now, the only coherent thought in Netherlands’ head is that he really just needs Portugal to keep doing what he’s been doing.

“You’re insane and, okay—fuck— _please_! Continue, goddamn it!”

Netherlands doesn’t need to see Portugal’s face to see the grin, but there isn’t time to feel irritated before that mouth is back around his cock again, sucking, and licking, and doing things his spinning brain isn’t capable of following.

But right when he’s about to come, he feels Portugal pulling back. Netherlands wraps his arms around Portugal’s waist and pulls him down, gripping him close, closer, with nails tearing in. He grunts, and—without thinking—bucks his hips against Portugal’s face and unleashes his load into his mouth.

Portugal hacks into a cough, spitting and swearing between breaths, but all his curses suddenly cut off into a low moan when Netherlands takes him back into his mouth and deep-throats, cheeks hollowed as he sucks.

“I am going to murder you,” Portugal gasps, before he arches his back and climaxes.

Netherlands pulls back, but not fast enough, because he suddenly feels something warm and sticky shooting over his face. “Fuck!”

He throws his hand over his face and tries to break free, but realizes he can’t because Portugal is _holding his fucking legs down_. He pinches his eyes shut and grits his teeth as Portugal comes over his face, until the last strands of cum dribble down his chin, and Portugal’s weight finally lifts off his torso.

“Sorry,” Portugal says, but he sounds more amused than anything.

Netherlands sits up, eyes still clenched shut. There’s ejaculate over his face and eyelids, and when he reaches up to brush some off he feels some drying in his hair as well. Great, now he’s going to have to wash it and style it all over again.

“You’re disgusting,” he mutters. He runs his tongue over his lips; the bitter taste lingers on his lips. Once most of the mess is cleared off his face and wiped onto the bed sheets, he opens his eyes.

Portugal has twisted around from his languid position to meet his gaze with a half-grin. He’s still panting slightly, though it could possibly be the remnant of a chuckle. “Shut up. You know I don’t swallow.”

“And I don’t do facials.”

Netherlands will never understand how people consider them hot, anyway, when they cause more of a mess than anything. He wants to go to the bathroom and wash off his face, but he doesn’t quite like the idea of an interruption. And the shirt Portugal tosses at him will do fine as a towel.

“So,” Netherlands says, “Ready for the next round?”


End file.
